Manhattan Sunset Dream #11 (#3)
When I arrived at Weehawken this evening, Hamilton was laying in the grass bleeding profusely. He was alone. There was no sign of Burr or of either of their seconds. Hamilton was dying, but still lucid.
"Do you realize that I am only ten years older than you?" Hamilton asked, blood spilling from his mouth. "What a fool I was. What a waste."
He rolled over and looked across the river and I could see he was crying.
"Look at the city," Hamilton said. The lights were coming on, shining through the blue gauzey haze that wrapped everything around us. "She looks fucking beautiful tonight."
Those were his last words.